I sit here staring at my desk. I don't need to touch my wrist to know that my pulse has yet to return to baseline, even an hour later.

I'm a fool, I don't need anyone to tell me that. I should have stopped her. I should have said something to encourage her. The question haunting me for months has been answered: it's not too late.

But she didn't let me finish my sentence.

Granted, I didn't know how I was going to finish my sentence. I still don't. "Let's..." and that was it.

Why did she give me an out? Either grace or fear. Or both. She is the most eloquent woman I've ever met, but she is right, she does over-talk around me. I used to think it adorable, but now it breaks my heart. Because I can't get my words out in time to ease her discomfort. Because I can't quite tell her how I feel. I can spout Shakespeare in an apropos manner but I get stupid around her.

I get up and slide into my jacket. The morning air is cool. The lab doesn't have the hold it once did. I gave my life to my job, sacrificed everything, only to be put under the thumb of the greatest slimeball I have ever known. He broke up my team, the best, most cohesive team I have ever worked with. He seems to take personal pride in breaking me down. This is what I've sacrificed for?

Some days, I think, though I would never say it, that the lab can bite me. It's not worth it.

Especially not worth what I sacrificed.

I drive in the direction opposite my house. Twenty minutes, and I am at her door. I swallow, then knock loudly, three times, with my knuckles.

I hear nothing but whooshing traffic and the pulse in my ears. Now it is no where near baseline. I have the vaguely nauseated feeling I get before being cross-examined, or asking someone out.

I strain and I think I hear the TV. It could be the neighbor's apartment though. What if she isn't home? What if she pulls up now in her car and sees me?

But I do hear footsteps. I breathe deeply.

The door opens. My first thought is that she looks different. Hair a bit dishevelled, face without makeup, she seems fairer, frailer. I dont' dare look below her shoulders.

"Grissom! I- hi. I wasn't expecting you. Come on in."

I realize that she has changed into a little black tank top and matching short- shorts. Miles of bare flesh is showing. Her little feet are bare. My peripheral vision catches the glint of a piercing in the small strip of skin between shirt and shorts, and I force myself to look away. "Can I get you something to drink? I have-"

"Why don't you ever let me finish my sentences?"

She has begun to move toward the kitchen, and I don't mind, because the sight of her ass in those shorts is magnificent. Think of baseball, Gil. Think of Ecklie...

"Huh?" She says. She doesn't quite whirl around, but she is surprised. She has apparently stopped thinking about offering me a beverage.

"You drop these bombshells but then you run before I can put a coherent thought together. Why?"

She stares at me for a long time. I can tell that she is not used to thinking of herself as the one who blocks communication. I can also tell that this never occurred to her.

"Well... You know what, let me put on some clothes and I'll answer that. I just went grocery shopping. Make yourself at home." She gestures nervously toward her refrigerator, and bolts.

Here I thought I was the one playing hard to get. Did I incorrectly assume that it wasn't too late? Why is she running? I know I'm not one to talk, but she never gives me the time I need to talk.

Or maybe she has written me off as one of the inappropriate places in which she once looked for validation. The mere thought hurts. That I mean nothing to her as a man, just as an authority figure who could dole out self-esteem? Please God, don't let it me true.

I take a bottle of water out of the fridge because I'm thirsty, and because I think it will put her at ease. I sink into her sofa and look around. She turned the TV off. The cable box is still on, however and I see that it is tuned to Court TV. I don't hear a police scanner, so I'm hoping she's found herself some diversions.

She returns quickly, and I am relieved to see that she hasn't put on too many clothes. Just a pair of jeans. The tank top still shows off those shoulders, that hollow of her neck. I wish her hair were up so I could see that long lickable neck. She hovers nervously in the doorway, as if afraid of me, unsure of where to sit.

"Something to eat?"

"Sara, if you don't want to talk, please just tell me. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

She stares at me for a long second, and I think of a deer. Spare, lean, and beautiful, big brown frightened eyes. I cant help but flicker my gaze to her navel, then her bare toes. Her toenails are painted a deep purple shade.

She doesn't say a word, just comes over to me and sits down.

"I thought I did give you a chance to finish. Your sentence, I mean."

"You need to factor in more time before considering me a lost cause. Your mere presence slows down my brain."

I know it's the only real thing I've given her in months, and I watch as it breaks like a wave over her face. Her eyes widen, her lips part, and the deer-in-headlights look returns. Her lips twitch into a hint of a smile, then are drawn tight.

This hurts. She wants to believe me, but she doesn't dare. Have I hurt her that much.

"Why?" She asks, and her voice an unrecognizable whisper.

Fair enough. My shoulders slump and I suddenly hear the ticking of a clock that doesn't exist. I need to say something. Now.

I bite the inside of my bottom lip and try to find a way to say the things that are reeling through my head. She's slouched over slightly, her arms crossed in an obviously defensive posture in front of her chest, hugging her torso, and the result is that the valley of cleavage is heightened.

She squirms. No! Don't stop me!

Why? Because I love her. Because I want to taste her, right in the place where that navel piercing lives. Because every waking thought and dream of the last eight years has been her. Because I want to shelter her, sweep her up into my arms and never let her hurt again.

She shifts again, pulls her foot under her other leg, leaning on the arm of the chair. Her eyes are on her toes.

"Sara. Don't you dare move from that chair until I say something."

She looks up at me, surprised. She raises her hands, fingers up, as if I were waving a gun at her. She smiles and again examines her toenails.

Breathe, Gil.

"I can't think straight around you because I have feelings for you."

Her face blooms pink and she looks up at me. Our eyes meet and it feels like I touched a live wire. Could I really have her? Would her eyes be like that if she were naked under me in bed?

"Okay." If I'm not mistaken those are tears glittering in her eyes, thickening her voice.

"You told me that some day it would be too late. Am I too late?"

I've never noticed before just how expressive her eyes are. Now they are wide and vulnerable, but in a way completely distinct from the way she looked earlier. So damn beautiful.

"Not necessarily."

"I've complicated things ten times worse than you have. I'm the one who should apologize to you."

She nods, not meeting my eyes. "Accepted," she says, in that whispery choked voice.

"Why are you crying, honey? Your eyes are full of tears."

She takes a deep breath, and rubs her palms together. She slides them back and forth until the fingertips of one are at the wrist of the other, then moves them back the other way.

"I feel very... frightened right now."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"I know."

"Sara?"

She meets my eyes. The brave face she put on in my office is back. "Yeah?"

"Come here. Please."

Yer eyes have yet another expression. I can tell that the word "why" is on her tongue, just ready to come out. But she gets up, walks over and sits down next to me. Then she raises those eyes to mine, and all thought goes out the window.

I reach out my hand, palm up. Truce. She raises an eyebrow, looks at it as if to say 'what the hell?' Her eyes flicker to me but I just extend my hand a bit further.

I am surprised when she takes my hand in both of hers. Her fingers cup it like it's a frail creature, and feel soft and cool. I meant to hold her hand in mine, but instead she holds mine in hers. Her strength amazes me.

We are quiet and I watch her close my fist, then open my fingers again. She idly traces the lines of my palm and even though she doesn't mean it to be erotic, every hair on my body stands on end. This would be a really inappropriate moment to be hard, but if she keeps that up I'm not sure if I can help it.

I let my fingers rest slackly in her hands and it is an oddly trusting moment. I actually did something right when I gave us the option to communicate without words. Words just mess things up.

She turns my hand over deftly in hers and regards the back of my hand. She feathers her fingertips from my wrist to my own fingertips lightly. I close my eyes and shudder visibly. My breath sounds loud in the quiet of her living room.

Her eyes snap to mine, surprised. Does she really not know how she affects me? Is she really surprised that she makes me shiver with a simple touch?

I clasp one of her hands, bend my head, kiss the palm. Her lips open and her own breath hitches. I close the fingers there and give in to my desire to kiss her wrist where the pulse lives.

Her reaction is a hiss. She draws back, watches me with narrowed eyes. "You better not be screwing with me."

"No." I shake my head no, trying to show with my eyes what I feel.

We are both quiet.

"I like touching you," I finally whisper.

She circles her wrist in her fingers, touching her skin as if I hurt her. Her mouth twitches and this time does smile.

"You sound surprised."

"I'm not. Just making an observation."

Her eyes move down to scrutinize the fabric of the sofa. "I like touching you too." She whispers it with a shyness that is so different from what I expected. It is simultaneously adorable and searingly erotic.

I feel warmth rising in my belly. She likes touching me.

"You need to clarify this," she suddenly says, calm and assertive, looking me right in the eye, like a totally different Sara.

"I do?"

"You do. The last time I made a move you shot me down. If you're changing your mind I at least have the right to know why, I mean, why now?"

She is right, of course.

Deep breath. The question is logical enough. "I always sensed what you were saying about looking for validation. It made me reluctant to get involved because looking for validation anywhere but in one's self is doomed to failure, and I know that it would have hurt us both. I don't feel differently about you. But I feel differently about work. And about what's important. You are not a sacrifice I'd make any longer, if given the choice."

"If given the choice by me?"

I nod. I hope that it is good enough because I think my tongue has died.

"The choice has always been there," she says.

"Sara?" I whisper.

"Hmm?" she asks, a sound made in her throat, not moving her mouth.

"I want you so much." My voice sounds more than a little desperate. God, I'm a putz.

Her breath seems to catch on the way to her throat. Her lips part, and she is so sexy, right there so close to me, and I want to kiss those lips like I want my next breath. But her eyes are glittering again, glassy with tears. I touch her face, catch the first tear when it falls, wipe it away. She blinks, and I am struck by the way her eyelashes flutter against my thumb for a split second. I pray she doesn't stop me because I can't stop touching her.

But she turns her lovely face away, and she is so beautiful in profile. No. No, no no! "Sara."

"I can't. Not..."

"Not what?"

"Not until I know you won't regret this tomorrow. Not until I know you won't just change your mind and break my heart again."

I ache to touch her.

"I don't know how to prove that to you. All you can do is give me time."

She nods, staring through space. "So you're saying that before you wanted me but not enough to risk work, and now you don't care about work as much."

"Yeah."

"So what happens if this crazy shift stuff with Ecklie settles down and things go back to the way they are and work is hunky dory?"

I don't like this question. But I guess I can see where she is coming from with it.

"That's a good question."

"Is that a deflection?"

God, she really mistrusts me. I have a lot to prove to her.

"No. No, like I said before, my sense of what's important has changed. If that happened, you would still mean more to me. You seem stronger, and I feel stronger. I'm tired of living like a hermit. I'm tired of wanting you from afar."

"Oh."

"Sara, do you still want me?"

Her eyes flash on mine. "Yes!"

"Is it me you want, or the... inappropriate validation?"

She swallows. "You. It's been for too long. Maybe it started that way but as much as you try to keep people from knowing you, I l-"

"You what?"

"I know you."

"Is that what you were going to say?"

"Grissom. Don't." She closes her eyes against my probing gaze.

"I'm sorry."

She sighs. "It's okay."

"You have feelings for me, but you don't yet trust me?"

She meets my eyes again. "Right."

"I can't say I blame you."

She nods again.

Was she really almost going to say what I think she was going to say? Oh, god, if it were true?

I've done nothing but leave her hanging. How can I blame her for not saying it?

I open my mouth. Close it again. My heart is racing, faster than when I do the stairmaster at the gym.

"I love you, Sara."

She stares at me, and her face is like the dawn of the universe. First her eyes narrow, then widen, and her pretty lips part and open and she is speechless.

"Are you serious?" She looks so vulnerable and her eyes are huge and I just want to shout it, yes, yes, I love you.

I touch her, I can't help it. Caress her cheek, run my fingers back through the hair at her temple. Her bones are so delicate. So beautiful. "Yes. I'm serious."

She licks her lips, eyes closed, and leans just a bit into my touch. I hear her breath entering and exiting harshly.

She looks at me then, and is utterly mute. She is speechless as I am. I meant to come here to talk as much as she did, to say things that I haven't said, while she's worn her heart on her sleeve. I've come to equalize an unfair situation, but now she's as dumb and silent as me.

We are so close, and I can't stop touching her soft hair, and she keeps shuddering and her breath is harsh, as if touching her is exciting her as much as it excites me. We hover so close to each other.

Then she, ever the brave one, tilts her head just a bit and brushes my lips with hers. It is delicate, but in that instant reality flashes over into something entirely different. I am throbbing hard, have been for minutes now, and I have to have her. Her body is so delicate and I wonder how having her under me the way I want could not hurt her.

But she is kissing me back just as hard as I kiss her, and her hands are on my arm and on my shoulder and my neck and roving everywhere. She tears her lips from mine with a harsh huff of breath and meets my eyes. I am soaring, high, the look she gives me is so sexy, eyes wide and pupils dark and lips open. We kiss again, mutually leaning in, and god, I wonder if this is what heroin is like. Judy Augustine once told me that I was an "amazing kisser" and I pray to god that this is true.

"Oh, god," she whispers between kisses. "Oh, god, you feel so good."

"You too." We kiss and kiss until she is flat on her back, and I am on top of her. I see her pulse throbbing fast in the hollow of her neck. I fulfill an old fantasy, and lick there. She whimpers. I gently nip where I licked, and her hips rise to meet mine.

I pull back and we regard each other. "What's wrong?" she whispers.

"Nothing."

"Don't stop."

So I don't. I kiss her lips until I'm breathless, then kiss the other side of her neck. I move my hand down over her chest, resting it just between her breasts, but not on them. She wiggles under me.

"Do you want me to touch you?" I whisper. My own words turn me on. God, I hope she says yes.

"Yes!"

"Really?"

"Grissom!" She scowls prettily and she thinks I'm teasing her.

I move my fingers gently over one breast, seeking out her nipple. I am so excited, so hard, and I just ache to be in her. I circle the nipple which hardens and she makes a noise that makes it even harder for me to retain control, a little stunned whimper. I imagined she would be responsive, but not like this.

Her hands move down to my ass, causing me to buck forward with the surprise of it, and this causes me to press hard to her like a dry-humping teenager. And damned if that doesn't feel good.

And damned if she doesn't seem to want it, pressing up to me sweetly.

"Oh god, Sara honey, that feels so good."

"For me too." And god help me but she starts circling her hips rhythmically. Her hands move to the bottom of my shirt and begin to push it up. The feel of those soft fingertips on my bare back makes me hiss. She is insistent, she pulls my shirt up.

"You want this off?" I ask, somewhat awkwardly, stupid smile on my face. God, I feel like a fumbling adolescent, consumed with mad lust. She seems to want it as much as I do, which doesn't quite seem real.

"I want all of it off," she smiles. Her tone is back to flirtatious, but her eyes are demanding.

I take my shirt off and toss it on the floor. Her hands are everywhere on my naked chest, stroking so gently, lovingly, that I could just sob with it. Her hand cradles the naked nape of my neck, pulling me close to her.

"This isn't too fast?"

"I'd say seven and a half years is long enough to wait."

"Really?"

She pulls me down and kisses me again. She burrows her face into the hollow below one of my ears. "You don't seem to believe that I want you. Why is that?"

"Well, this isn't the most romantic..."

"You can be romantic later. But if you don't do me right now I'm going to scream."

"You're serious."

"I don't know why that's so hard to believe. My body wants you. And I know yours wants me. I can feel it." She moves her hips just so and I cry out.

"Ohgod."

"I'll give you all the romance you want, later," she purrs into my ear. Then she reaches below her and pulls up her top. It flies to the floor and she pulls me down for a kiss before I can absorb the sight of her bare tits. The feel of them on my chest, however, is better. "I'll give you anything," she continues.

I pull away and catch my breath. This is rushing out of control. I need to give to her. No matter what she says about needing me to do her ASAP I can't just rush in like some horny teenager.

I sit up, take in the glorious sight of her perfect breasts, firm tits with nipples hard just for me. I touch, I can't help it. So beautiful. A flush has started on her face and neck and I see pale freckles on her shoulders.

I cup her in my hand, play until I've had my fill with her nipples, then do the same with my mouth. She seems to like the rough friction of my chin there. How it doesn't hurt, I'll never know. I am certain that with the sounds she is making, I will come in my pants.

I move down, taste the hollow of her navel, tug the metal gently with my teeth. "This is so sexy," I whisper, and she moans happily.

I look up at her face and her eyes dart to mine. My fingers are on the button of her jeans and the raw look in her eyes demands that I continue. Instead of unbuttoning I cup her over the fabric, I am actually touching her, so close to her after all this time, where I've wanted to be for years, and she is whimpering and bucking for it.

Oh my god.

I undo the button, fumbling. I pull her zipper down and then move back up to that adorned belly button, kiss there, back up to her breasts. She groans in disappointment and I marvel that she can be so impatient, like a man. She wants what I want.

I have her nipple between my teeth, held gently and I pull. She quivers and digs her fingernails into my neck. Painful joy. I have always loved that particular sensation, pleasure-pain.

I quickly move south, and she lifts for me without my prompting. I pull her jeans down, cradling her ass on the way. Oh god, so warm smooth silky. Her panties come off though I didn't mean them to, and her scent rushes out at me. So good.

"You smell so good," I whisper. Her legs press together, as if she is uncomfortable with this, then gradually relax apart. Her eyes are on mine.

"You're serious."

"God, yes." How the tables have turned. How can I convince her that that exquisite scent is making me high? I decide it is better to show her than tell her this so I spread her and cup the delicate hairs there. She is shaved but for a tiny little landing strip. I move my fingers slowly and she moans. I am actually touching Sara. Sara's pussy. Smelling her scent. Oh, god.

I lower my face but don't kiss yet. With my fingers I tease apart her hairs, blowing. She bucks violently. I cup harder, then spread her with my fingers and since I can't bear to wait any more dive down to finally, finally taste her.

Sweet sour, wonderful, salty, everything but bitter, and she tastes like she smells, wonderful, so wonderful, and I wonder if I could come from her delicate funk alone.

I tease her for a long time. I used to hate doing this, never had a clue what to do until one very patient girlfriend who taught me well. I'm never sure if I'm doing it right, but Sara seems to go crazy. The noises she makes are making me want to grind my cock into the couch cushions. Little moans and delicate whimpers and harsh gasps. So beautiful, I think. "So beautiful," I mutter.

I look up, and she is watching me pleasure her, and for some reason it pleases me. "You're beautiful," I repeat, sliding a finger into her.

She is so wet. I can't bear to tease her any more and when she yells and starts bucking, I decide to finally move to her little clitoris. It is red and as I suckle it into my mouth I feel the heat of it. She keens, wails, god, she is exquisite.

I want it to be good for her, and I want her to know how beautiful, how tasty she is. "Taste so good," I whisper, then move back to her aching pussy, aiming to please. I keep my tongue strokes basic and light, and her moans tell me I am doing well. I move faster and I feel her start to twitch. I try to reach her G-spot, curling my finger.

She hisses and whimpers in an altogether different way. I meet her eyes. "Ouch," she says.

"I'm sorry."

"S'ok. Don't stop! I'm close."

"Hmm. Tell me how you want me to touch you on the inside."

Her breath comes out harshly. "Not so deep... shallowly. But with more pressure. Like a mortar and pestle..."

I add a second finger, and rotate my wrist. She goes crazy. "Ohmygod, you're so good!" she hisses.

"Oh, honey, I want to feel you come." I nip her inner thigh, then continue with my tongue.

"More! Oh, god, you're making me come, just a little more..."

I move even quicker and feel her tense and quicken. She is a sensory feast of taste, sensation, scent, and sound. And so beautiful to watch.

"More... More!"

Then she stops speaking words and cries out without them. I keep going as her whole body seems to spasm under me. I feel her come, I have actually made Sara come, and I watch her rapturously as she cries one last time then bursts into tears.

I stop, cup her gently, watch bewildered as she cries.

"Sara?" I am alarmed. I didn't expect her to be sobbing.

She leaps up, pretty impressive given that the after shocks of her orgasm are surely still moving through her. She takes my hand and drags me.

"Bedroom. Now."

I follow with widened eyes, the front of my jeans disgustingly wet, amused that she sounds a little like a caveman.

She lies on her bed. Watches me with doubt in my eyes. "Please tell me you want me," she says. Can she possibly doubt it?

"Oh, I want you." I'm throbbing with it. It's starting to be a little painful.

She reaches over to her bedside table and pulls out a strip of condoms. I get a glance of something phallic and purple and I try to imagine her playing while alone, and make a mental note to ask about it later. She rips off a condom lightning quick and I think, why am I standing here like a putz with my jeans still on.

My chest is okay but I have legs like a chicken. Fear is suddenly high in my throat but her eyes are begging. I slide out of my jeans, kicking off my socks, come what may. Moment of truth.

But she is not repulsed, she stares at me hungrily, and feeling somewhat less ridiculous, I take the condom and unravel it slowly onto me. It is cool on my hot skin.

Then she is under me, not a stitch between us but that damn rubber, and I kiss her. I intended to give her a little foreplay but she reaches for me, insistent, and tugs me to her.

"You're not one for foreplay, are you?" I tease her.

"Don't make fun of me." she pouts prettily.

"I'm not. I want you. Are you sure?"

"Yes!" she cries out, as if exasperated. The tears are still on her face and I feel confused. Then her legs go around me and there's a sudden clarity.

I look into her eyes and feel my heart and soul open up. I don't know how else to describe it. It's like a black hole forming, the fabric of the universe turning inside out. I thrust into her, her eyes shut slowly, and the cry that comes from her lips expresses the sensation I feel.

"Sara. Look at me."

She does.

"I love you," I say, and thrust again.

The things flashing across her face are nothing like the smiling mask she wore in my office mere hours ago. She is real, and raw, and naked. Everything from then on out is a blur.

Mostly, I remember Sara, clinging to me, crying out, sobbing, and finally I get it: that they are tears of joy, and more shocking still, the same tears are running down my own face.

She is so tight and perfect, fits me, cradles me, and I can't help but lose it in her. I can't hold back, I come and come and come, and then fall to her, crying out with it, tasting my very love for her on my tongue.

Fingers, bodies, sweat, open eyes, naked souls, tears from both of us, confession. The universe is different than it was yesterday. We become greater than the sum of our parts. Incessant words of love run back and forth between us like the shuttle of a loom, weaving something new and shining.